A Touch of Paradise
by Vamptanzen
Summary: As Mrs. Muir deals with a terrible family crisis, Captain Gregg sends her a lovely dream to ease her cares ...
1. Chapter 1

**A Touch of Paradise  
**by Vamptanzen

**-- Chapter One --**

The day was appropriately gloomy as Carolyn Muir trudged up the flagstoned front walk of Gull Cottage, her shoulders slumped in weariness. Her black umbrella dripped crystal tears all around her, nearly as profuse as the teardrops she herself had shed over the past few days. She could not recall crying as much, nor being so heartsick, since the days immediately following the death of her husband, Robert, nearly five years ago. She sincerely hoped that she would not have occasion to bury another loved one, so soon ... too soon.

As she climbed the stone steps to the front porch, she sighed and lowered the umbrella dejectedly, shaking the stray drops from it even as she tried to shake the dark foreboding thoughts from her mind, fishing in her raincoat pocket for her house keys.

As she approached, key at the ready, the door swung open noiselessly, apparently of its own volition. Carolyn pocketed the keys again, unfazed by the sight of the door opening itself, and stepped across the threshold of Gull Cottage.

A tall, distinguished figure waited in the foyer. "How is the lad, Madam?" Captain Daniel Gregg (or rather, the spirit who, in life, had been Captain Gregg) asked Mrs. Muir as she slid the damp umbrella into the stand next to the door, slipped out of her raincoat and hung it on the coat tree in the hall. She let her red-rimmed eyes rest for a moment on the dark-clad figure of the ghost, touched by the look of undisguised concern on his ruggedly handsome, ginger-bearded face, then averted her eyes to the floor with another shaky sigh.

"No change. He's still ... unconscious." She couldn't bring herself to utter the dreaded word the doctor had used ... _coma_. Her voice was flat and tired, and her body ached miserably from lack of sleep and from sitting vigil for two days and nights at Jonathan's bedside. The only reason she was home now and not at the hospital was due to Martha's dogged insistence.

"No use making yourself ill, too," the gruff, matronly housekeeper had argued despite Carolyn's protests that she should remain with her son. "You still have a daughter who needs you." Yes ... Candice. Martha had blessedly had the presence of mind to leave Candy in the care of the mother of one of her schoolfriends, as Carolyn sped to the hospital in the ambulance with Jonathan.

Martha, as ever, was indispensable, keeping a cool, level head in the midst of this crisis, making sure Candy was cared for as Mrs. Muir refused to leave Jonathan's side, then joining her to take turns watching over Jonathan as Carolyn hastily gulped down the food Martha had kindly thought to bring. Now, the formidable Martha had taken over the vigil and exerted her considerably strong will over Carolyn to convince her to go home and rest, with the promise to call her when (she refused to use the disheartening word "if") Jonathan's condition improved.

So, with great reluctance, Mrs. Muir had returned home to Gull Cottage ...

"I am sorry, Madam," the cultured, ghostly voice continued, filled with compassion. "I only wish there was something I could do to help Jonathan. You know how fond I am of the lad."

A flash of anger flickered through Carolyn, quick as summer lightning. _Then where were you when he was tumbling off that cliff? Why weren't you there to protect him? _she thought irrationally and, she was quick to admit, unfairly. Then, close on the heels of that thought, she murmured aloud, "Why wasn't _I_ there to protect him?" Like a sleepwalker, she moved into the living room and sank to the sofa. She was past the point of tears, so she merely dropped her head into her hands, torturing herself with self-recriminating thoughts.

Captain Gregg hovered behind her, reaching for her though he knew some ghostly code of honor prevented him from touching her. "You mustn't think that, Madam," he said soothingly. "Had you known he was in danger, neither hell nor high water would have kept you from doing everything within your power to keep him safe from harm." He smiled fondly at Carolyn, though she could not see his concerned and tender look due to her bowed head. "Dear lady," he said quietly but with feeling, "You are without doubt the finest woman and the most devoted mother I have ever known. You must not blame yourself for the accident which has befallen Jonathan!"

Despite herself, Carolyn drew comfort from his words, albeit only a small amount. She lifted her head and, still not meeting the ghost's clear blue gaze, said, "Thank you, Daniel. I know in my mind that it's not my fault, but my heart and my conscience keep telling me otherwise."

He smiled slightly at her use of his first name. It was not often that she spoke to him in familiar terms -- usually she used the more formal "Captain Gregg" or simply "Captain" -- and he treasured the times when she did honor him by using his given name. It hinted at an intimacy he knew, sadly, could never be consummated -- at least not in _her_ lifetime -- and demonstrated the bond of friendship and trust which had grown between them since she and her family moved into his home. His smile grew warmer at the thought, _No, not __my__ home ... __our__ home._

Carolyn rose at last from the sofa, and made her weary way to the staircase. "I know I promised Martha that I would get some hot food into me, but I just don't feel up to preparing something. I'm going up to bed. Goodnight, Captain." She slowly climbed the stairs.

But as she pushed open the door to her darkly-paneled room -- which had formerly been Captain Gregg's, and reflected a decidedly male aesthetic, softened here and there by Carolyn's homey touches -- she was surprised to find a meal laid out and waiting for her: a bowl of hot soup, a warm loaf of bread, and a steaming mug of her favorite jasmine tea. In spite of her fatigue, her appetite perked up at the delightful aroma of hot food, and she approached the tray neatly set out on her writing desk, pleased and more than a little touched. "Dear Daniel ..." she murmured to herself as she set down her purse, then looked around the room and called out, for his benefit, "Thank you, Captain. Though I don't know how you managed all this." The sweep of her arm took in the tray and its contents, complete with a single red rose in a crystal bud vase.

He appeared near the bay window, leaning against the brass telescope mounted on its pedestal in the alcove. "What do you mean, Madam?" he asked with the curious arch of one eyebrow.

She seated herself before the tray, and sniffed the fragrant steam rising from the hot food. "I mean, I just can't picture you puttering around the kitchen, slaving over a hot stove ..." She couldn't help smiling as the absurd image of the Captain wearing a frilly apron over his customary sea captain's garb popped into her head.

He drew himself up to his full ghostly height. "Madam, remember that, in life, I was a confirmed bachelor. The culinary arts were not outside my scope of knowledge. In fact, I made do very well in the galley." He grinned somewhat sheepishly, and added, "In any case, you don't have to be a twentieth-century housewife to operate an electric can opener! The soup, by the way, is courtesy of Campbell's."

She laughed then -- for the first time in two days -- and smiled in genuine affection at the Captain. "Well, I still thank you," she said. "Your consideration is greatly appreciated. If you weren't a ghost, I'd kiss you!" She turned back to her repast and didn't notice Captain Gregg's flustered look, which quickly melted into a tender expression akin to adoration. Once again, he silently cursed the fact that she had not been born a century earlier. How he would have loved to have known her while he was still a creature of flesh and blood!

He cleared his throat (a quite unnecessary gesture, since he was a ghost, but an effective affectation nonetheless), and said solicitously, "You are very welcome, m'dear. Now, as I know that you have dire need of rest, Madam, I will not keep you from it. I bid you goodnight." With that, he vanished, leaving Carolyn to finish her dinner alone.

_

* * *

__The afternoon sun filtered through the front windows of Gull Cottage as Carolyn Muir ran the vaccum over the faded rug in the living room, humming to herself as she did her Saturday housecleaning. Martha fussed about the kitchen, busy unpacking the groceries she had just picked up at the local market. The children, Candy and Jonathan, and their wire-haired terrier Scruffy, were nowhere to be seen. They had vanished into the bright spring afternoon, after "helping" Martha with the shopping and their mother with their few daily chores._

_The vacuum made so much noise that Carolyn neither heard Scruffy's frantic bark, nor Candy's terrified cries until both had burst through the front door._

_"Mom! Mom!" Candice cried out. At her horror-stricken expression, Mrs. Muir quickly thumbed off the vacuum and rushed to her daughter's side, a cold hand of terror gripping her heart at the look on Candy's face. "Mom, hurry up! Jonathan's fallen off the cliff! He's not moving! Please, hurry!" She pulled on her mother's arm as Martha hurried in from the kitchen, and they all rushed after Candy, down to the beach. All the while, Candy related what happened, her narrative broken by occasional sobs._

_"We were playing. Some of the bullies from school came down and started picking on us. They dared Jonathan to climb the rocks up to the cliff. I screamed for him not to, that he might get hurt, that you wouldn't like him doing it. But he wouldn't listen. He was so angry because they teased him and called him a sissy. He was almost to the top when he fell!" She was crying uncontrollably now. "Mom, he wasn't moving! And there was blood!"_

_By then they had arrived at the beach, and found Jonathan lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the cliff. His jacket was torn, and his head was bleeding from a gash in his temple, apparently made by one of the jagged rocks which littered the cliff's base. Carolyn felt a sickening wrench of fear in the pit of her stomach as she saw the still form and starkly pale face of her rosy son. _

_"Jonathan!" she cried out and rushed to him, dropping to her knees beside the motionless figure. She almost reached out to clutch him in her arms, but then remembered through her panic, _No, I mustn't move him ... his back might be injured. _Recalling the first aid training she had taken shortly after Candy was born, she ripped the triangular kerchief from her hair, pressing it to the wound to stanch the flow of blood. Martha arrived, out of breath, and Candy turned and threw herself into her arms, burying her face in the housekeeper's starched white apron to stifle her sobs._

_"Martha!" Carolyn cried frantically. "Call an ambulance ... quickly!" As Martha hurried off at full trot with Candy in tow, Mrs. Muir turned back to her unconscious son, cradling his face in her trembling hands while the tears streamed down her face. "Jonathan, you have to be all right! Please be all right! I can't lose you. You can't ..." her voice choked on the word, "... die!" She repeated this litany over and over, willing her son to be all right ..._

"No!" Carolyn murmured in her restless sleep, tossing and turning in the relentless grip of the nightmare, as she relived those tragic moments. "Jonathan!" she cried out, and sat up in bed, shaking with fear and premature grief. The light evening rain had blossomed into a full-blown thunderstorm, and Carolyn stared about her with panic-stricken eyes before she realized dimly that she was at home, in bed.

"My dear, are you all right?" The indistinct form of Captain Gregg hovered at her bedside, gazing at her with concern. He had appeared at the sound of her cries.

Instead of replying, she buried her face in her trembling hands and sobbed uncontrollably, crying tears she thought had been completely spent over the past two days. The Captain looked on, distressed -- he never could bear to see a woman cry! -- and murmured soothing words, his insubstantial hands stroking Mrs. Muir's forehead, wishing he could do more, cursing the fates that kept him from putting warm, comforting _human_ arms around her.

Eventually her sobs subsided, and she fell back on her pillows, exhausted, dropping back into a restless sleep without ever acknowledging the Captain's presence.

Captain Gregg looked down upon her cherished, tear-streaked face, then bent over her sleeping form. "I may not physically be able to give you the comfort you need, my darling," he whispered, passing his ghostly hand over her face, "But I can give you restful slumber ... and a lovely dream." He smiled as her care-worn features relaxed, and she fell into a deep sleep ...


	2. Chapter 2

**A Touch of Paradise  
**by Vamptanzen

**-- Chapter Two --**

The sweet smell of flowers tickled Mrs. Muir's nose as she slept, making it twitch. A vague thought crept into her sleep-fogged mind as she came partially awake. _Jasmine? _She remembered the tea she had had with dinner the night before, jasmine-scented, and started to drift back into the welcoming arms of Morpheus, but something nagged at her consciousness as the fragrance continued to overpower her senses. Surely, the tea's aroma would not have lasted this long! She rolled over, yawned, and stretched luxuriously as a warm, perfumed breeze caressed her face. She opened her eyes ...

...and found herself in an unfamiliar room!

Carolyn came awake instantly and sat up in bed, gazing around in disbelief.

The gentle rays of the rising sun lit the room in a rosy glow which illuminated white plaster walls, polished wood floors, and beautifully-appointed French-colonial styled furniture. A Chinese rug lay before the crystal-paned French windows, which were wide open to the fragrant morning breeze. The canopied bed itself was of dark wood, the head- and footboard ornately carved with patterns of intertwining leaves and flowers -- not so very different from her bed at Gull Cottage, but more feminine in decoration -- and though her mind labeled it _antique_, she could clearly see that the wood looked newly-carved and freshly polished. The bed hangings were of creamy Versailles lace and the ecru coverlet appeared to be hand-crocheted.

Looking down, she was startled to find herself clothed in a white, modestly-cut, almost Victorian-styled nightdress of thin summer-weight brushed cotton trimmed with eyelet lace. The high ruffled collar and cuffs were gathered and tied with tiny satin ribbons. A matching peignoir was slung across the foot of the bed.

As her senses cleared, Carolyn's first thought was, _This can't be real! I must still be asleep! _But the breeze drifting across her face, laced with the powerful scent of flowers, continued to contradict her -- no dream had ever been this vivid!

Her features momentarily clouded with anger as another thought occurred to her. "All right, Captain! This has all the earmarks of being one of your supernatural tricks! Stop it, immediately!" she called to the empty room, then surrendered to doubt as, after a full minute of shouting, no Captain was forthcoming. "Captain Gregg?" she called uncertainly, her voice trailing off as it rose questioningly. She finally threw her hands up in resignation. "Blast!" she muttered under her breath, not sure whether she should be frightened or merely play along with the elaborately-constructed "dream."

Certain that inactivity would provide her with no satisfactory answers, she at last rose from the bed, noticing the absence of the telltale squeak of bedsprings, realizing that the mattress must be stuffed completely with feathers. Reaching for the peignoir, she pulled it on as she moved to the window.

From her vantage point, she could see the golden light of sunrise gilding gently lapping, deep turquoise waves. She stepped onto the small wrought-iron balcony, and noticed that the house was surrounded by swaying palm trees and bright, exotic flowers -- jasmine and orchids and birds of paradise. No wonder the scent had been strong enough to wake her, with this lush garden growing just outside her window! She found her fear and confusion gradually waning, succumbing to the irresistible charm of this gentle, unthreatening tropical scene.

With a sigh, she turned and re-entered the bedroom, moving past the dressing table to drop into the overstuffed chair next to the hall door. Glancing up, she spied her reflection in the dressing table mirror, and drew a sharp breath.

She rose and moved closer to the mirror, fingering the new crop of loose ringlets which framed her face instead of her usual short, practical, matronly hair-do. _This certainly must be a dream_, she thought. _Even the Captain at his ghostly best couldn't give me a Toni home perm in my sleep!_

Carolyn engaged in a closer scrutiny of the room. There was a marble-topped washstand, complete with basin and china jug, next to the bed. A tall cherrywood armoire stood against the wall on the other side of her bed, and an investigation of its contents revealed a selection of long dresses of the finest materials in the loveliest hues, as well as an assortment of old-fashioned hats and high-buttoned shoes.

A small chest of drawers held a bewildering array of Victorian undergarments, some of which looked more like finely-tailored instruments of torture than lingerie -- whaleboned corsets, cotton chemises, silk stockings and lavishly-embroidered garters, lace-tiered pantalets and petticoats.

Mrs. Muir held a corset at arm's length, a look of horror spreading across her face. _If anyone thinks I'm even going to __consider__ wearing this thing, they're sadly mistaken!_

Atop the dressing table was a gorgeous silver comb and brush set, engraved with a complicated pattern of curlicues, birds and flowers framing a large, filigreed letter "C". The drawers of the table relinquished a small treasure trove of lacy gloves, hair ribbons and jeweled clips, costume jewelry, pots of fragrant creams, and tiny delicately-etched bottles of perfumes and scented oils.

_Well, at least someone seems to have taken a lot of time and trouble to get the details right! _Carolyn thought to herself as she examined each item that came to hand, the weight and texture of each a solid presence belying the dreamlike unreality of her situation.

Carolyn moved to the washstand and grasped the handle of the china pitcher, pouring some if its contents into the basin. She bent to splash her face with the cool, lightly scented water, and dried her face with the thick towel hanging from a brass-and-china bar affixed to the side of the washstand.

From the wardrobe and chest, she selected the most uncomplicated and comfortable-looking apparel she could find -- finally settling for a sedate, high-necked tea dress of white gauze trimmed with rows of lace and tied at the slightly raised waist with a wide, peacock-blue satin sash. She regarded the high-button shoes with suspicion, and finally opted for a pair of soft satin slippers which she pulled onto her bare feet. For some absurd reason, the outfit reminded her of her high school senior prom dress and, looking in the mirror as she brushed and tied back her new shoulder-length blonde curls, she looked and felt a bit like a teenager again. _Or a character out of "The Pirates of Penzance", _she added in her mind.

Now properly outfitted, she decided it was long past time to explore the world beyond her bedroom door. She wondered how complicated this illusion of the Captain's was, and just how far it would go.

Mrs. Muir sighed in exasperation, an annoyed frown marring her attractive features. The Captain certainly had a lot of explaining to do! Despite his absence, she had little doubt that he was the author of this little fantasy. However, as she explored the rest of the house, she found her anger gradually fading to be replaced by a dawning sense of wonder.

The door to her room opened at the top of a double staircase of dark polished wood whose "arms" encircled a spacious entry hall. The foyer floor was an intricately-inlaid mosaic of sea-green, azure blue, and pearl gray tiles which suggested sky and clouds reflected in a calm expanse of sea -- as if someone had endeavored to bring the ocean indoors. Fine paintings -- mostly nautical scenes and soft-toned portraits of Reubenesque ladies -- adorned the clean, whitewashed walls above dark wainscoting.

As she descended to the foyer and moved to explore the other rooms, she noticed the house was cluttered with an odd assortment of knickknacks -- the type a sea captain might pick up on his travels around the world: Exotic-looking swords in ornately decorated scabbards, oriental rugs and ivory _objets d'art_, African masks and Egyptian pottery, French antiques and Limoges china figures, an exquisite stained glass fanlight above the front door.

A marble-topped English sideboard of deeply carved and intricately detailed mahogany graced the dining room, and Carolyn was surprised to discover laid out upon it a selection of fresh tropical fruits, pots of jam, and assorted coarse-grained breads, apparently for her. A Russian samovar filled with steaming hot water sat at one end of the sideboard, surrounded by jars of fragrant teas. She noticed, as she moved closer, a note tucked partially under the teacup and saucer.

She hesitated a bare moment, not quite sure what to expect, before reaching to pick up the note.

_Madam_, it read in a bold, masculine but oddly graceful script she recognized, _I bid you welcome. Please consider the house and grounds as your own, and make free use of them as you desire. Your devoted servant ... "D"_

Carolyn wasn't sure whether to be pleased or incensed at having her suspicions confirmed of the Captain's hand in this little adventure. She knew, by all rights, she ought to be furious with him, but somehow she couldn't find it within her heart to sustain her anger. After all, it was a beautiful setting -- everything she had hoped and dreamed for, ever since she was a girl and had read of such places in books. And now, to find herself in such a wondrous place was so very close to being the fulfillment of those girlish fantasies of travel and romance.

She had never had the opportunity to travel before her marriage to Robert Muir. And neither his teacher's nor her fledgling writer's salary could support such excesses as vacations in foreign lands. Finances only grew tighter once Candy and, a year later, Jonathan arrived. Even their honeymoon had been to a place no more distant and exotic than Martha's Vineyard. All her life, she had had to be content with the flights of fancy her writer's imagination provided.

The thought of the children brought a nagging sense of ... something to the back of her mind, but she wasn't quite able to grasp the elusive thought. Surely, she could recall Jon and Candy's bright faces as vividly as if they were standing right before her, but she had the feeling she was forgetting something of vital importance concerning her children. It wasn't just the fact that here, in this dream or whatever it was, they were absent. Wherever they were, she was sure the highly capable Martha was taking excellent care of them. Funny ...

Her concern, however, failed to blunt her appetite, which had struck full-force at the sight of good, wholesome food. She put her worries aside long enough to break her fast, then returned her attention to her situation and surroundings.

From the dining room's French doors, she could see a strange little gazebo crouching in the midst of the well-tended garden she had glimpsed from her room. She pushed the doors open and ventured forth, the scent of sun-drenched exotic flowers nearly overwhelming her, making Mrs. Muir's head fairly spin. The island breeze did little to quell the rising heat of the tropical sun overhead -- so very warm even at this hour of the morning.

She sought the shelter of the shady little gazebo, and found a woman's wide-brimmed straw sun bonnet hanging on a peg just inside the entrance. Wondering fleetingly about finding yet another hint of a woman's presence at the Captain's house, Mrs. Muir donned the hat, letting the aqua satin ribbons hang loose at either side of her face as she explored the little garden. Beautiful though it was, it couldn't hold her attention for long -- her need for answers was too great. If the Captain thought she would wait docilely at "home" until he deigned to make an appearance, he had another think coming!

Passing through each room until she reached the front foyer, she pulled open the heavy mahogany door and stepped out onto a wide, whitewashed porch which spanned the front façade of the building. Victorian gingerbread decorated the "corners" where support columns and porch roof met. As she stepped away, she turned back to regard the house ... a pleasing blend of Victorian architecture and cottage simplicity, with just a hint of New Orleans influence in its wrought-iron accents, its design every bit as eclectic as Gull Cottage and its erstwhile builder and owner, the Captain.

Low, lush flowering shrubs grew in abundance at the front of the house, and a flagstone path so similar to the one at Gull Cottage wound its way between tall palm trees. As Carolyn followed the path, she felt the sea breeze grow stronger, bringing with it the warm, salt tang of the ocean. Rock gradually gave way to a trail of sandy earth, and a familiar sound reached her ears -- the creaking of a ship at dock, and the raucous cries of seagulls.

At last, the swaying palms fell away to reveal a strip of sandy beach dotted with an endless variety of seashells. Gulls circled overhead, occasionally swooping down to capture a small crab at the water's edge or snatch some hapless fish from the shallows. The late morning sun beat hotly overhead, and Mrs. Muir was glad for the wide-brimmed hat which shaded her from its harshest rays.

A long wooden pier jutted out into the deeper water offshore, where a ship lay at anchor. The vessel slowly rose and fell with the swell and ebb of each wave, boards creaking and groaning with the strain of motion. Carolyn could discern a lone distant figure busy on the ship's deck, right arm rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The pounding of a hammer came to her ears, the distance causing the sound to be slightly out of time with the motions of the figure on the deck, reminding Carolyn of a movie with the soundtrack slightly out of sync.

Mrs. Muir crossed the sands and approached the pier, traversing the structure silently, her slippered feet making only the barest whisper of sound across the weathered boards. As she drew nearer, she was able to make out a name painted across the bow of the ship -- the _Lucia_. A gangplank spanned the distance from the starboard side of the vessel to the pier -- and she finally came to stand at the foot of the plank, looking up at the span of sea-aged timbers stretching on either side of her.

Then the sound of the hammer blows drew her gaze upward, and she caught her breath.

Her eyes met an expanse of bare, muscular, sun-bronzed back. A light dew of perspiration and sea spray adorned the suntanned flesh with droplets that glittered in the sunlight like diamonds. Her vision swam for a brief instant, then refocused as she remembered to breathe. Her heart pounded in time with the swinging hammer.

She continued to watch in silence as the man completed his hammering, then rose to his feet, hefting the object he was repairing -- the ship's "crow's nest" -- onto one shoulder, and strode lithely across the deck. She watched as he fastened a rope hanging from a pulley at the top of the mast around the barrel-shaped object, and hoisted it into its proper position, the muscles in his back and arms flexing at the hand-over-hand motion. He tied the rope off to keep the "nest" in place overhead, then, removing half a dozen sturdy-looking iron nails from a pouch at his waist and placing them in his mouth with the heads sticking out, he clambered up the mast, straddling a cross-spar at "nest" level. Removing the hammer stuck into the waistband of his dark trousers, he secured the "nest", then swung his leg over and shimmied back down.

As his bare feet hit the deck, Captain Gregg glanced up and caught sight of Mrs. Muir, and a dazzling smile brightened the ordinarily stern features. He strode to the top of the gangplank and looked down at her.

In the nearly two years since moving into Gull Cottage, Mrs. Muir had become used to the sight and presence of the attractive spirit of the dead sea captain. His appearance had nearly always been the same -- clad in the same dark jacket, pants, and gray turtleneck, his demeanor alternately melancholic and brooding, then temperamental and overbearing, occasionally displaying a mischievous streak -- particularly when tormenting his questionable descendant, Claymore, whom he considered a disgrace to the noble Gregg family lineage, when he bothered to acknowledge him at all -- as well as a rapier and disconcertingly earthy wit.

For all her familiarity with the Captain's appearance and his ever-changing moods, she had never seen him like this -- so breathtakingly alive and devilishly handsome, bathed in golden sunlight which turned his brilliant blue eyes the color of pale sapphires, glinted off perfect white teeth, and added fiery highlights to his wavy pale ginger hair and neat beard silvered with just a few threads of mature gray. Shirtless and shoeless, he looked exactly like a pirate out of an old Hollywood film. Gazing at him now, she could fully appreciate how he got the reputation, in life, as a notorious rake and lady's man -- right now, he looked so thoroughly the part!

She came to realize that her avid scrutiny was being returned as the Captain took in her appearance with an appraising, roguish glint in his eye. "Madam," he said in a low and clear voice, "You look confoundedly lovely in that frock. The sun pales in comparison."

Carolyn's jaw dropped at his exaggeratedly poetic words. Usually, wrangling a compliment from the cantankerous Captain Gregg was like pulling teeth, and every bit as troublesome. His compliments were rare as pearls, and just as preciously treasured. She was struck speechless.

He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in her state of fluster, and once more flashed that rakish grin, bowing slightly at the waist. "One moment, Madam, if you would be so kind ..." He turned and vanished belowdecks, and, when he returned, had donned a white linen open-neck shirt and well-worn, comfortable leather boots. Cap and jacket were nowhere to be seen. "Please excuse my casual appearance, my dear," he said as he descended the plank, "but I am, as it were, on holiday. And it is devilishly warm out here!"

Carolyn had to laugh. "Yes, I noticed that myself." She indicated the sun bonnet perched atop her blonde curls, then clapped her hand to it as a sudden warm gust threatened to snatch it from her head. As determined as she was earlier to be furious at him, she was finding it an impossible task to hold to.

He regarded the hat with a critical eye. "I think it suits you, Madam," he declared.

She laughed again. "You would!" She knew, from personal experience, that the Captain had some rather outmoded ideas about how a "proper" lady should dress and present herself.

As he approached, Carolyn was struck once more by his vitality, at the very essence of life that fairly flowed from him in waves. Standing before her, he drew himself up to his full height and said with polite formality, "But, dear lady, I have not properly greeted you. I bid you a most profound welcome." She stood transfixed as he bowed and reached for her hand ...

His hand -- warm, human, pulsing with life -- closed around hers. He raised it to his lips, pausing momentarily as his clear blue gaze captured hers with a mischievous twinkle, then planted a kiss upon her knuckles. She felt the softness of his lips, the brush of his neat beard against the tops of her fingers, his warm breath against the back of her hand.

A tumultuous clash between reality and illusion struck her with the force of a hurricane. The dreamlike setting and fantastical events of the past few hours, the harsh reality of a hot sun overhead, Daniel's vital presence beside her, the undeniable truth of his warm flesh touching hers, the rushing of the sea in her ears ...

Heart pounding like the strokes of the hammer he had wielded scant minutes earlier, Carolyn dealt with the situation the best way she possibly could.

She fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Touch of Paradise  
**by Vamptanzen

**-- Chapter Three --**

_For a moment, in the blackness, she thought she could hear the wrathful fury of a thunderstorm outside, the roaring sea battering rugged cliffs, the staccato tap-tap-tap of tree branches whipping against a window. And then, a voice repeating over and over, "My darling ... please, come back to me ... My dear ... Carolyn."_

Mrs. Muir slowly became aware first of a swaying motion, gently lulling her, making the climb back to wakefulness difficult, and then the feel of strong arms supporting her across her shoulders and under her knees. Without knowing why, she felt safe and secure, and wanted nothing more than to stay in the cradle of those strong, capable arms and sleep forever. She moved her head slightly to one side, and felt the coarse fabric of a shirt against her cheek, and, against her breast, the rise and fall of a broad chest drawing breath ...

Mrs. Muir came awake with a start just as the arms lowered, relinquishing their burden to the softly cushioned surface of a _chaise longue_. Carolyn realized she was back in the sitting room at the charming little island house where she had first awakened. Captain Gregg hovered over her, undisguised concern etched on his rugged face and reflected in his vivid blue eyes.

"Daniel ...?" she said faintly, passing a hand over her eyes as a slight dizziness made her head swim anew. She was aware of the sound of footsteps crossing the room, the clink of glass against glass, and then the feel of something cool, round and smooth being pressed into her hands. She opened her eyes again to note the snifter cradled between her palms, the sharp but not unpleasant odor of brandy teasing her nose.

A strong arm came beneath her shoulders, supporting her, helping her to rise sufficiently so that she could sip the drink without spilling it down her dress. One large hand wrapped around both of hers, Captain Gregg helped her guide the snifter to her lips, compelling her to drink the liquor straight down. As the beverage burned a tingling trail of fire down her throat, Carolyn coughed and pushed the glass away. "That's okay. I'm fine now," she choked, flushed with a warmth she was not sure could be entirely attributed to the brandy, or to the balmy island climate.

He helped her to a sitting position on the _chaise_, taking a seat next to her, his arm gently lingering at her waist, lending its support. She let her spinning head rest against the firm curve of his linen-clad shoulder for a moment, until her senses gradually cleared. She pulled away from his light embrace without difficulty and, once he saw she was going to be all right, the Captain rose to his feet, took several manly paces, then spun to face her.

"That was a damned foolish thing to do, Madam, fainting like a weak woman," he growled, but without conviction. "I had thought you more strong-hearted than that."

Carolyn had to smile. This was more like the Captain Gregg she knew!

She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice as she replied, "Daniel, I do believe you were worried! I didn't know you cared!"

"Of course, I care!" he said roughly. "But in all the time we've been acquainted, Madam, I've never known you to faint."

She was touched by his concern, and more than a little surprised by the uncertainty she detected underneath his blustery exterior. She came to the astounding realization that her little fainting spell had truly frightened him! Again, this was something she had never seen before; she had never known Captain Gregg to display, or even admit to, the smallest amount of fear. That he should show it for her ...

She was deeply moved, but hid the emotion with a little sigh. "Put yourself in my place, Daniel. I awake in a strange place in a strange bed, with no idea how I got here. My clothing is different, my hair is different -- I look like some blasted heroine out of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta! I can't seem to remember certain details of my past, and I'm finding it almost impossible to distinguish fantasy from reality." She fixed him with a steady gaze. "Now tell me, Daniel, what would you do under the same circumstances?"

His bluster diminished under the influence of her reasonable words and cool look. "I apologize, Madam. You are quite right. Under the circumstances, fainting was probably the most sensible thing to do."

They both laughed then, his chuckle low like the rumble of distant summer thunder, hers like the light fall of spring rain against a windowpane. As their levity subsided, he came back to her, taking both her hands in his, and seating himself beside her on the _chaise_.

"Madam, is this experience that distressing to you? Being here with me, in this manner?"

Mrs. Muir took a deep breath as she considered his question. "I must admit, the situation itself is somewhat ... disquieting." She looked up into his clear blue eyes. "But, no ... I don't regret at all being with you, Daniel." She freed her hands easily from his light grasp, and reached to brush her fingers, tentatively, lightly, through his hair, then let her hand trail down his face, the bristly whiskers of his neatly-trimmed beard tickling the palm of her hand. "But I'm still amazed that I can feel you! How is that possible?"

He turned his head and pressed a light kiss against her palm. "Perhaps, m'dear, it is nothing more or less than a miracle. And who are we to question miracles?"

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon in each other's company. The Captain packed a picnic lunch, and together they walked arm in arm down to the beach. Carolyn found that the wind had shifted slightly from that morning, and though the tropical sun still shone brightly overhead, the breeze blowing directly off the ocean now tempered the heat to a more tolerable level. 

Like a gallant beau, Daniel spread a blanket on the warm sand for Mrs. Muir's comfort, and served her lunch from the well-stocked picnic basket, which included a bottle of the finest wine from the Captain's cellar. Before she knew it Carolyn found herself lightly dozing, with her head pillowed in Daniel's lap, his pleasant baritone gently lulling her with old sea shanties.

_"Adieu my fair young maidens,  
A thousand times adieu  
We must bid goodbye to the Holy Ground,  
And the girls we love so true  
We will sail the salt seas over  
And return again for sure  
To seek the girls that wait for us,  
In the Holy Ground once more._

_"You're the girl that I adore,  
And still I live in hope to see  
the Holy Ground once more._

_"Now when we're out a-sailing  
and you are far behind  
Fine letters will I write to you  
with the secrets of my mind,  
The secrets of my mind, my girl,  
you're the girl that I adore,  
And still I live in hope to see  
the Holy Ground once more._

_"You're the girl that I adore,  
And still I live in hope to see  
the Holy Ground once more._

_"Oh now the storm is raging  
and we are far from shore;  
The poor old ship she's sinking fast  
and the riggings they are tore.  
The night is dark and dreary,  
we can scarcely see the moon,  
But still I live in hope to see  
the Holy Ground once more._

_"You're the girl that I adore,  
And still I live in hope to see  
the Holy Ground once more._

_"And now the storm is over  
And we are safe on shore  
We'll drink a toast to the Holy Ground  
And the girls that we adore  
We will drink strong ale and porter  
And make the taprooms roar  
And when our money is all spent  
We will go to sea once more._

_"You're the girl that I adore,  
And still I live in hope to see  
the Holy Ground once more."_

The balmy tropical breeze ruffled her blonde tresses as she fell asleep, feeling oh so much like warm fingers running gently, lovingly through her hair ...

* * *

When Carolyn awoke, she was alone ... 

She lay curled on her side, her head pillowed by a soft hillock of sand under the blanket that Daniel had spread for her ... but of the Captain, there was no sign.

"Daniel?" she called sleepily as she sat up, and looked around. Though still daylight, she could see the shadows were beginning to lengthen, a sure indication that evening was approaching.

"Daniel?" she called out a little more loudly, her voice tinged with concern. Her heart lurched a bit in her chest when he failed to appear. Or was he ever there to begin with? Had she indeed only imagined his presence?

She got hurriedly to her feet, leaving the blanket behind as she retraced her steps to the house, panic spurring her pace to nearly a run. Her relief was great as the house came into view -- at least that much had not been a figment of her imagination!

As she burst through the front door, she called out, "Daniel? Captain Gregg? Are you here?" When she again received no reply, she quickly checked the rooms on the ground floor, then padded up the steps to the second floor.

Her search gradually led her to the one room she hadn't yet explored -- the master bedroom ... Captain Gregg's room. She hesitated as she reached for the doorknob, reluctant to breach his "inner sanctum", then remembered the note he had left her at breakfast: '... _consider the house and grounds as your own, and make free use of them as you desire ...'_

She took a deep breath, turned the knob and eased the door open ...

The room which met her eyes was every bit as much Daniel Gregg as his room at Gull Cottage -- masculine in décor and furnishings, adorned with nautical trappings and artifacts. The large four-poster bed was not as ornate as the one in her own room at the other end of the hall, and instead of a crocheted coverlet it was draped with a Navajo Indian blanket, intricately woven in zigzag patterns of bright earth tones: rich ochres and rusty clays and a blue as cool and deep as lake water. A Persian rug on the floor, though of a markedly different pattern than the blanket, utilized the same color palette, so that they complimented each other. A roll-top writing desk, cluttered with books, pens, charts and maps, dominated one corner of the room. A large sea chest stood at the foot of the bed, its top strewn with a few personal objects which apparently held places of honor and significance to Daniel, including a few framed portraits.

As she drew nearer, she reached out a hand to touch the larger portrait -- a sepia-toned daguerreotype of a man in sea captain's garb, his craggy bearded face bearing a remarkable resemblance to Daniel's, though clearly a couple of decades older. She assumed that this was the elder Captain Gregg, Daniel's father. She wondered briefly, had Daniel survived to old age, if this was how he would have eventually appeared ...

The other framed portrait turned out to be an ink sketch of a beautiful Asian woman, rendered in lifelike detail. Serene eyes stared out at her from a heart-shaped face, and her gentle smile revealed small pearly teeth. Carolyn had never seen a woman so lovely, so compelling ... a woman who could capture a sailor's heart. She wondered who she was, and what importance she had played in Daniel's life, to hold such a place of honor among the other treasures displayed proudly on his sea chest.

A whisper of sound from the doorway alerted her that she was no longer alone, just before the familiar accented voice reached her ears, "I see, Madam, that you are making yourself completely at home."

Her heart leapt, and an overwhelming sense of relief flooded her at the sound of the Captain's voice. She turned, and indeed Daniel was standing there. If he was angry about her invading the privacy of his room, he didn't show it at all. He came to stand beside her, his arms clasped behind his back.

"I apologize for leaving you alone, m'dear, but I needed to attend to the arrangements for this evening, and was loath to disturb your slumber ... you were resting so peacefully. I hope my absence did not cause you undue concern. I had hoped to get back to you before you awakened. In fact, I was just going to go back down to the beach and wake you ..."

She ignored his apology, her earlier trepidation all but forgotten at her new discoveries. She held the framed etching out to him. "This woman ... she's very striking. Who is she?" Carolyn was almost afraid of the answer; it was obvious it was someone for whom he cared ... or had cared ... very deeply.

His features softened as he gently took the picture from Mrs. Muir, and she felt a momentary pang of jealousy at the affection in his gaze as he studied the image. The low rumble of his cultured voice was respectful as he answered, "That, my dear ... is the only woman who ever had a positive influence on my life. The only woman who, during my time on earth, laid claim wholly and completely to my heart. She is my mother."

Carolyn suddenly felt ashamed for her suspicions. "I've never seen a lovelier woman. She has such a delicate, exotic beauty."

Captain Gregg handed the portrait back to Mrs. Muir. "She was an Asian princess whom my father encountered on one of his many voyages to the Far East." His voice held a hint of melancholy. "A fine woman, a fragile beauty possessed of, I am told, the courage of a lioness. She risked everything -- gave up her family, her heritage, even her royal birthright to run away with her dashing English sea captain ... my father. I am the product of their union."

Now that he had pointed out the relationship, she could see the fine traces of Asian heritage in the faintly exotic cast of his brilliant blue eyes.

"She was not only a princess in reality, but to my father, his Lu Xia was truly queen of his heart. She was the only woman he ever let set foot on his ship ... the only woman he deemed worthy of that singular honor. A rare woman, so he said, whom none other could equal. She was his life's breath, his heart's blood ... his soul's mate." He nodded to the portrait she was studying. "That picture is his work. The Gregg men have always had an artistic bent ... but it takes an exceptional woman to bring it to the fore." He let his gaze rest on her with significance, though she could not see it.

Carolyn regarded the portrait again, considering the depth of love expressed in that detailed rendering. She could imagine the utmost care, the heartfelt emotion the elder Captain Gregg had infused with each stroke of the drawing pen.

"He drew that after her death. Every detail of her face, burned eternally into his memory, so that he could render such an exquisite likeness years after she was gone. Sadly, I never really had a chance to get to know her. She died of smallpox when I was hardly more than a babe." Carolyn glanced at him, and thought she saw the glimmer ... just the faintest trace ... of tears in Daniel's eyes, but knew he would not thank her if she were to call attention to them. "I don't believe he ever recovered from her loss. He wasn't the same man after her passing -- more withdrawn, less enchanted with life at sea, as though he couldn't bear to see the places they had been together after having seen them through her eyes. He never remarried. Indeed, he had no use for women at all after her passing."

She laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Madam. Perhaps it is best that I have only her image filtered through my father's eye, for I suspect no woman could ever hope to match the paragon of womanhood my father painted." His gaze rested on Carolyn, and his voice grew thick with emotion. "All my life, I despaired of ever finding such a love ..." His tone lightened as he added, "Though, I must admit, I had a devil of a good time in the searching." She handed back the portrait, which he gently replaced on the sea chest.

With sudden insight, Carolyn realized that this might be the reason the Captain had resolved to remain a bachelor. Perhaps he couldn't bear to suffer the depth of loss his father did, so he subconsciously steered away from any serious relationship with a woman. How lonely his life must have been as a result! Even the name of his ship -- the _Lucia_ -- could easily be a variation of his own mother's name -- Lu Xia.

Carolyn almost went to him, so filled with tenderness and sympathy was she toward him. She wanted to draw him into her arms and comfort him, but the moment was gone in the passing of a breath.

Instead, she faltered as she asked, "Have you seen her again since you ... passed on?" Mrs. Muir couldn't help hoping that his untimely parting from his mother had ended with a happy reunion in the Hereafter. She was also curious to know if there was a similar reunion in store for her and Robert, sometime in her own, hopefully distant, future.

He smiled ruefully, though the melancholy had lifted somewhat from his face. "The afterlife doesn't work that way, Madam. You can't just look someone up and pop in for a visit, or gather estranged family members together for a holiday. In fact, for those of us who remain bound to the earth, there is seldom if any contact with our own kind at all."

"Why is that, I wonder?" Carolyn mused aloud.

"Well, as I understand it, there needs to be a very special bond ... an unbreakable link between two souls ... for the possibility even to exist. I never knew my mother well enough in life to forge that kind of a bond with her. Though I have no doubt my father and she are now happily reunited, wherever they are."

She wondered if the bond she and Robert had had was strong enough. Strangely, over the past few years, his memory had begun to fade ... she wasn't even sure, if she didn't have Candy and Jonathan to remind her of certain aspects of Robert's features, she could bring an accurate image of him to her mind, let alone render, in words or portrait, as Daniel's father had done, a detailed picture of him. This idea shook her to the core. She was so very certain that she had loved Robert, that he had been the one great love of her life. She had considered her married life over after Robert died. Could she have been mistaken?

"What happened to you ... after she ...?" she asked as delicately as she could, not wanting to stir up for him any disturbing memories, but her curiosity needed satisfying.

"Afterward, my father insisted that I stay with him. He wouldn't leave the rearing of his only son to some flock of mewling landlubbing women. He understood the importance of a father's influence in a boy's life, and glad I am that he did. I was raised a proper ship's brat. I could swim practically before I took my first step. He had me tying knots at an age when other children were still in their nursery. I could shimmy up a mast and swing from the mainsail better than any Madagascar monkey."

"But what about school ... didn't you miss being with children your own age?" Mrs. Muir couldn't imagine a child growing up denied a formal education, or playmates.

"Hah!" the Captain scoffed, "What need had I of a formal education? The world was my schoolroom." He started pacing back and forth, becoming more animated as he went on. "My father taught me my letters, as well as an appreciation for literature through his prodigious collection of books; a man at sea for months on end has little else to amuse him, and books became more valued than gold doubloons. I read the entire works of William Shakespeare by the time I was ten. The ship's chaplain taught me my catechism and bible studies. I learned the natural sciences by observing Mother Nature herself in the tides of the sea, the patterns of the weather ... mathematics and astronomy by mastering how to chart a course with nothing to guide me but a compass, a sextant and the stars ... history through the exotic tales of the natives of the lands we visited. I can read, speak, and write twelve languages -- nine fluently."

His eyes sparkled with life and passion. Carolyn was enthralled as he continued to spin his tale. "I learned by experiencing life firsthand, Madam ... through the observations of my own eyes, the feel of these hands." He held them up to punctuate his words. "I learned more by being a vagabond than can be learned bound to a desk, closed in some stuffy schoolroom!

"When I was twelve, my father arranged my first apprenticeship, and I went to sea ..."

"You mean he sent you away?" Carolyn asked, somewhat shocked. "Would you not have preferred to stay with him?"

"In those days, Madam, a young man had to prove his own mettle, make his own way in the world. Though there were naval academies where one could receive formal training, they were mainly reserved for the sons of the well-to-do, to groom rich men's heirs to become officers. My father, though he made a comfortable living as the captain of a merchant ship, was by no means a rich man. To prepare a promising lad of less privileged birth for a life at sea, the custom was to apprentice. A lad apprenticed until he learned all he could from one master, then apprenticed to another of greater skill, and then another. And then, finally, if you learned your lessons well, you signed on for a berth of your own as a fully qualified seaman.

"Yes, I could have stayed and continued to learn from my father, who was as qualified a master as any. But a lad cannot earn the respect of worthy men tied to his father's bootlaces. As far as I'm concerned, there is no more despised creature on the face of this earth than a son who has ridden his father's coattails to success, and had opportunity presented to him as though it were a Yuletide gift. In the eyes of the world, and in your own heart, you either became your own man, or no man at all.

"So, as I said, I entered into my first apprenticeship at the age of twelve ... and it was nearly my last. After less than a year, the captain sent me packing back to my father ..."

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Muir commented. "What happened?"

The Captain bristled, and Carolyn could see that she had touched upon a sore spot. "The man was a complete and utter fool! A rank incompetent!" he growled. "Why, I knew more about seamanship at the age of twelve than he did ..."

Mrs. Muir couldn't suppress a smile as she interjected, "I believe I get the picture." She could imagine the frustration of that poor first captain, faced with a smaller but no less overbearing and opinionated version of Daniel Gregg. What adult would stand for some upstart youngster trying to tell him how to do his job? "What happened then?"

"Well, after a proverbial trip to the woodshed and an even sounder tongue-lashing, my father came to his senses and indentured me to a real seaman! What a time that was! The places we went, the things we saw, the thrilling adventures we had, all the things I learned ...

"As far as companionship, there's nothing can compare to the company of seamen. The courage, the selflessness, the camaraderie borne of shared experiences and working toward a common goal, and the struggle to survive a harsh life at sea! It forms bonds more lasting than those forged in the schoolyard.

"When I was barely seventeen, newly out of my indentures, I came to the Americas to seek my fortune. The country, at that time, was engaged in a conflict with Mexico, and sailors and soldiers were much in demand. I enlisted in the Navy, and soon found myself midshipman on a ship bound for Vera Cruz, as part of a squadron under the command of Commodore David Conner.

"While an apprentice, my masters had schooled me in how to handle a sword and a pistol, and these skills stood me in good stead as I embarked on my naval career. I comported myself well at Vera Cruz -- unlike our cowardly bilge rat of a Captain, Horatio Figg, who jumped ship in Jamaica and ran before we ever saw action! -- and it was not long before I rose through the ranks and attained my first Captaincy." He squared his shoulders proudly. "And, may I say, Madam, I had the distinction of being one of the youngest seamen in the Navy, at that time, to achieve that rank."

"But you didn't finish your career with the Navy ..." Carolyn interjected.

"No, I retired from the Navy before the age of thirty, invested what income I had earned and saved thus far in the most seaworthy vessel I could afford, and became master of my own ship."

"The _Lucia_ ..." she concluded.

He smiled. "Yes."

He glanced at the window, noting the darkening sky that heralded the arrival of evening.

"And now, Madam, I am sure you will want to take the opportunity to freshen up and change for dinner, as will I." He bowed slightly to her, "If you deem it sufficient for your preparations, shall we meet downstairs in one hour's time?"

"Yes, that will be more than sufficient," she said with a return smile, and they parted company to prepare for dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Touch of Paradise  
**by Vamptanzen

**-- Chapter Four --**

Exactly one hour later, Carolyn emerged from her room. The gown she had selected for dinner was exquisite, and clearly intended for evening wear. The sleeveless bodice of the robin's-egg-blue satin dress had a modified scoop neckline, cut low enough to show a modest but not unseemly amount of feminine cleavage. The décolletage was edged with midnight blue velvet piping, and the matching wide velvet band at the slightly raised waist was adorned with tiny silver beads and a scattering of lustrous seed pearls, giving one the impression of distant stars twinkling against a twilight sky. The full overskirt was draped, ruched and gathered here and there to reveal a tiered tulle underskirt in the same shade of midnight blue as the bodice trim and waistband. Carolyn had swept her hair back from her temples with a matched pair of beautiful mother-of-pearl combs, the loose ringlets falling in a cascade down her back. Earrings of cultured pearls set in silver dangled from her earlobes, and a matching choker collar graced her throat.

Wondering if she was perhaps a bit overdressed for a simple dinner, Carolyn descended the stairs to find the little house aglow with what seemed like hundreds of candles, the soft flickering light adding an even more romantic air to each room. The soft sound of music -- a stringed quartet? -- came to her ears, and she followed its siren song to the garden.

Her fear of being overdressed vanished when she saw the Captain.

He was waiting for her by the little gazebo, resplendent in full naval dress uniform: navy trousers and long jacket adorned with triple bands of gold braid at the cuffs and collar, epaulets, and a double row of gleaming brass buttons which caught the light of the picturesque Japanese lanterns strung throughout the garden. As she stepped forth into the soft light of the lanterns, he doffed his cap respectfully, then tucked it under his left arm as he watched her approach. As she drew before him, he executed a formal bow. She couldn't help smiling as she responded with a proper curtsey, then let him capture her hand to help her rise.

He seemed for a moment unable to speak, and Carolyn found herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze. "Good evening, Captain."

"Good evening, Madam," he responded. "In fact, a most excellent evening."

Carolyn had to agree; with the setting of the tropical sun, the air had cooled considerably and it was now quite comfortable. In fact, she considered for a moment going back for a wrap, in case the evening became too cool, but as the Captain's appraising glance swept her from head to toe, she found herself suddenly suffused with a warmth that had little to do with the outside temperature.

He led her to a small table that had been set up in the garden, two places elegantly laid out with fine china, lead crystal, and gleaming silver cutlery. The tablecloth and napkins were of the finest ivory damask. In the center of the table, tall tapered candles glowed in a sterling candelabra. Off to one side, a serving cart held an array of covered silver dishes as well as a cut-glass decanter of sparkling rose-tinted wine.

He seated her at the table, gallantly holding her chair as she sat, then proceeded to wait on her. Her plate was soon brimming with a variety of comestibles, but she hardly noticed the food, so caught up was she in the enchanting ambience of the garden. Glancing up, she caught the Captain regarding her with a rapt, almost hungry look that made her blush the same color as the wine. Flustered, she raised her glass and took a sip. Though the vintage was delightful, she found herself more intoxicated with the blossom-perfumed air, the soft lilt of the music, and the presence of her handsome host.

At the conclusion of their meal, he stood and held his hand out to her, bowing slightly at the waist, and she placed her hand in his, rising from her chair. He linked her arm through his as they strolled among the flowers, the sound of the string quartet serenading them as they ambled.

Carolyn gazed around the garden, but couldn't detect the source of the music.

"Where are the musicians?" she asked.

"Beg pardon?" he responded with a question of his own.

"Well, in my other dream there were musicians ..."

His brow creased with curiosity. "Your _other_ dream, Madam?"

Carolyn wondered passingly at his sudden inability to form complete sentences. "Yes ... all of this ... the candles, the music, the Japanese lanterns ... even you, in that charming uniform. I've dreamt it all before ... or something rather like it."

He drew her toward the little gazebo, then bowed her to the padded bench within. "Please, tell me about this dream of yours."

For a moment, she felt as though she were on a psychiatrist's couch instead of a bench in a gazebo. "Well ... it happened several months ago, when I was ill with ... ague, I think you called it."

His face lit with remembrance. "Ah, yes ... until my miraculous elixir restored you to full health."

Carolyn smiled ruefully. "Considering your little 'elixir' was laced with 80-proof brandy, the miracle was that I recovered at all!" she quipped.

"Madam, I assure you I only had your best interests and continued good health in mind."

"Yes, you always do, or so you say."

He feigned wounded dignity. "Are you implying that my intentions are less than altruistic?"

"Let's just say that, on occasion, it is not my best interests but your own that are served by your actions."

"Madam, you wound me to the quick!" he exclaimed, but with good humor.

"Let's just say that I've come to know you well enough to know better."

"I'm not sure I see what this has to do with the subject we were discussing, which was, as I recall, your dream," he prodded.

"It's just that I doubt that it's a coincidence that this," she waved one hand around the gazebo, meaning the whole situation, "experience and that one are amazingly similar. In other words, if you were responsible for that first one, you are likely responsible for this also."

He regarded her, and some of the humor had left his voice as he replied, "Madam, I assure you, I knew nothing of, much less was responsible for, whatever dream you had whilst you were ill."

"You promise that that is true?"

His expression now was completely serious. "On my word of honor, Madam. Whatever you dreamt before was completely a product of your own mind. I had nothing whatsoever to do with it."

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she let it out in a sigh of relief. "I believe you, Daniel."

"However, I do admit I am curious about that dream, as apparently I had a role in it. Would it have anything to do with your cryptic comment later that I ... 'waltzed beautifully', I think were your words."

She couldn't help smiling at the recollection. "Yes, it did."

"Please, tell me about it. As I was, by your account, a featured player in your dream, I think I am entitled to know at least if I behaved honorably."

She smiled fondly. "Yes, very much so." Her eyes took on a faraway look as she recounted, "It was very much like this ... I awoke from a sleep to the sound of music playing, and the house was still Gull Cottage but somehow ... different. I rose and reached for the light switch, but there were no electric lights, only oil lamps and candles ... hundreds of them it seemed. I came down the stairs, and opened the front door.

"There was a ball taking place, on the front lawn. A dance floor had been laid over the grass, and there were Japanese lanterns, just like these ... and a stringed quartet played, which was the music I had heard. All of the ladies were gowned in nineteenth-century fashion, as were the men. Claymore was there ... and Martha, and the children, all dressed up like a hundred years ago ... and, when I looked down, my nightgown had been transformed into a ballgown, too. And my hair ..." She fingered her curls, as she had then, in her dream.

"Please continue," Daniel said in a gentle voice.

A shadow passed momentarily across her face. "It was as though _I_ was the ghost. I tried speaking to Martha, and the children, and even Claymore, but they acted as though they couldn't see or hear me. I started to become frightened, and turned around ..."

"Yes," he prompted.

"And you were there ... looking exactly as you do now."

"Fascinating, my dear. What happened then?"

"You took my hand, and I suddenly wasn't frightened anymore. We started to dance, a beautiful slow waltz. I was in your arms, and you felt so real. We looked into each other's eyes, and I was sure you were going to kiss me ... and then ..."

Daniel was staring at her with a captivated expression. "And then?"

"A guest fainted, you said it was the ague, I heard Martha calling, and I woke up back in my bedroom."

Disappointment tinged his tone as he asked, "And that's all?"

Carolyn shrugged. "Yes ... the dream was over."

He looked at her intently, as though seeing her in a new light. He stood and, reaching a hand out to her, softly said, "Then, Madam, it appears we have a waltz to finish."

She looked at his gloved hand, then placed her own hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. As they left the gazebo and returned to the garden, the music shifted to a slow waltz. Daniel paused to bow to her, then swept her into his arms as they began to dance.

It was almost exactly as in her previous dream. It seemed to Carolyn that the unseen quartet played the same tune, Daniel's skill at the dance was just as she remembered it, and the eyes that gazed into hers held the same fascination, the same ... love.

Her own gaze lingered on him for a moment, her feet automatically tracing the steps of the waltz, and then she asked breathily over the lilt of the music, "Daniel -- is this really happening or is it just another dream? Am I really here with you -- a living, breathing you -- or is this just one of your ghostly illusions?"

His features softened at the pleading expression in her eyes. He answered carefully, evasively, "Does it really matter, my dear?" He stopped dancing. "Isn't it enough that we are here, together? Able to touch ..." his hand rose to brush the hair from the side of her face, then lingered at her cheek. "Able to kiss ..." He tilted her face upward and planted a chaste kiss upon her brow. "Able to hold one another ..." his arm tightened perceptibly around her waist, pulling her closer, and Carolyn allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. The waltz music filled her head, and she was keenly aware of every sensation -- the feel of his strong arms around her waist, the salt-and-sea-air scent of him, the gentle stir of his breath upon the top of her head as he held her close.

She felt his chest rise and fall in a deep sigh. "My darling," he said softly, with a living man's passion. "Have you any idea how very long I've wanted to hold you like this?" One hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the loose blonde curls. "To be able to share your joy when you are happy, or to comfort you when you are in distress?" She looked up at him, and saw the sincerity in his blue eyes. "To love you, as you need to be loved ... as you _deserve_ to be loved." His head dipped toward hers as he sought to kiss her, but she broke free and eluded the touch of his lips.

"Daniel, I ... things are just happening too fast. I'm barely able to grasp the fact that I may really be here. Right now, I can't deal with anything else."

His voice held only a trace of the disappointment she knew he must be feeling. "I understand, my dear. It must be terribly confusing to you, but if you can believe anything, believe what I have told you." He reached for her face, his rough fingertips barely touching the curve of her jaw. "I do care for you, very much."

Carolyn's heart lurched at the look of tenderness on his face, a look which sought to unleash the gentler feelings she had kept securely under lock and key since her husband's death. She hid her distress, though, behind a façade of banter as she dropped her eyes and let out a half-hearted laugh. "As you cared for all your women, I suppose?" She tried to keep her tone light, but even to her ears her words sounded brittle, forced. She thought of the wardrobe full of women's clothing, the sun hat in the gazebo, the telltale signs of another woman's presence in this decidedly romantic retreat ... was this, in fact, the Captain's "love nest" ... ?

For a while, she thought he would turn on her in anger, but instead, responding to her light tone, he replied in kind, "I was not aware at the time, Madam, that anyone was keeping a tally." He looked at her and arched an eyebrow as he shrugged. "I do confess to a certain weakness for the fair sex, m'dear. One might regard it an occupational hazard for the kind of life I led. I certainly don't consider it something of which I should be ashamed, for I never mistreated any of ... 'my women' as you so delicately put it, or impugned their reputation in any way, as many men do. I was the soul of discretion." He leaned forward, clasping both her hands in his. "Yes, there have been women in my past, but my feelings toward them have nothing whatsoever to do with my feelings, now, toward you."

Mrs. Muir sighed. "That's where you and I differ, Daniel." A wistful look came over her face. "You see, for me, there was ever only one man in my life and in my heart. Robert and I were high school sweethearts, and married right out of college. There never was anyone else for me ..." She hesitated, then decided not to add '_until you_.' She wasn't sure she was prepared to face the feelings now coming alive for the first time since Robert's death, and it wasn't fair for her to give Daniel any encouragement until she was able to deal with her own emotions. "As you can see, compared to you, my own experience has been somewhat limited."

He was silent for a while as he considered her words. Then he turned, and Carolyn was surprised to see her usually unflappable Captain looking decidedly unsure of himself. "Perhaps you misunderstand me, Madam. All this concern about my past liaisons ... perhaps I have not made myself clear."

He motioned toward the gazebo, and once she was seated, he came to her and grasped both her hands in his own, gazing down into her face with an intensity she found disconcerting. "I have no desire to make you simply another one of 'my women'." He released one of her hands and reached into the pocket of his coat, and withdrew something which he immediately enfolded in the palm of his hand. "I would hope that you are aware my regard for you goes much deeper than that." He dropped to one knee before her, looking, Carolyn thought, somewhat uncomfortable and a bit foolish.

"Daniel?" she asked uncertainly.

He opened his palm, revealing a tiny circlet which glinted with the unmistakable radiance of gold.

"Madam ... my dear, dear Carolyn." She sat in stunned silence as he began to slip the delicate band of gold onto the third finger of her left hand. "It would afford me the deepest and most boundless joy if you would consent to be my wife."

Mrs. Muir, for one of the few times in her life, was absolutely speechless. "Daniel," she choked out. "I -- I don't know what to say."

He clasped her hand in both of his, and looked at her with what Carolyn could only describe as a "puppy-dog" expression of earnest longing. "M'dear, I am asking you to marry me. Please ... say _yes_."

For a moment, she was tempted ... tempted to go along with this fantasy, or dream, or whatever the hell it was. She knew she loved the Captain ... had grown to love him over the years she had shared his home, and seen how he had grown to dote on her as well and, more importantly and endearingly, on her children. But a practical side of her couldn't go that step ... couldn't buy completely into the illusion, the tempting possibility that he offered her. He was after all, she reminded herself, a spirit ... not really alive, little more than an illusion. And Carolyn needed something in her life that was real, that she could depend on, that was solid and stable and sure.

Captain Gregg started to slip the ring onto her finger, but she reached down and prevented him from completing the task. "Daniel," she began, the regret in her voice sending him an answer he didn't want to hear.

"My dear ...?" he questioned, and Carolyn cringed inwardly at the hope in his voice ... a hope that she was about to dash.

She dropped her gaze, pulled her hand from his grasp, and regretfully slid the ring off her finger. The romantic music now seemed to mock her, the violins sounding stridently in her ears. She offered the ring back to him reluctantly. "I -- I'm sorry, Daniel."

This time, the stunned silence was his. She heard him draw a breath ... did it almost sound like a sob? ... and hold it for what seemed an eternity, before he let it out in a sigh that spoke volumes. "Why not, my dear? Am I that abhorrent to you?" he said at last, trying valiantly and almost successfully, to disguise the hurt in his voice.

His pain made her feel like, for lack of a better word, a cad. Her voice was unnecessarily harsh as she snapped, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Daniel, please get up. I can't talk to you like that." He set his jaw and rose, sitting beside her on the bench. She took his hand -- still wondering at the fact that she could actually _feel_ him -- and tried to explain, as gently as possible.

"Daniel, I am a woman with responsibilities ... two growing children, a housekeeper, and a dog. For their sake, I need to provide a stable life, a sense of permanence. I can't afford to succumb to a fantasy, to the illusion of something I know isn't truly real." She bowed her head. "As lovely and as enticing as the fantasy is, I cannot surrender to it."

He regarded the ring for a moment, avoiding her gaze. "Are you saying that ... you do not love me?"

She smiled sadly, and sidestepped a direct answer to his question. "Daniel, what kind of future can there be for us, if I wake up tomorrow and you're nothing but a shadow again?" She looked at him steadily. "When I give my heart, Daniel, I give it forever." A cloud passed over her face. "I've already suffered one major loss in my life. I don't think I could bear to accept you now, only to lose you when the dream comes to an end."

In speaking of her loss, Mrs. Muir was once more overcome with that strange feeling that she was forgetting something of major importance. It troubled her that she couldn't recall precisely what it was, but the thought filled her with an inexplicable fatigue. "If you don't mind, Daniel, I want to go to my room now and rest, and try to sort things out. It's been a very lovely, but also a very trying, day."

He seemed reluctant to lose her company, but conceded to her wishes. "Whatever you desire, my dear." She started to rise, but as she did, he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. He proffered the ring to her and, when she began to refuse, hastily added, "I know you have already given me your answer. But, please, keep this, if nothing more than as a remembrance of my feelings toward you. And if you change your mind, or if there is anything you need ... anything I can give to you ..." he let a wealth of implication linger in the air between them, "Please do not hesitate to come to me."

She couldn't allow herself to think too long on the hidden meaning of his words, and nodded as she slipped the ring into her dress pocket. "I will, Daniel," she assured him as she began to take her leave of him. Then she stopped, and turned suddenly ... quickly enough to see the yearning look that had been following her.

"Daniel," she said. "Would you mind escorting me to my room?"

"Of course, m'dear," he was at her side in a moment, offering her his arm. She looped her arm through his, and they entered the house, together.

As they passed through the dining room and into the foyer, she commented conversationally, "I couldn't help but be impressed by the mosaic work here. It's beautiful."

He smiled. "Thank you, m'dear. I designed it -- and, indeed, all this house and its trappings -- myself. As I did Gull Cottage." The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. "That artistic bent I mentioned earlier ... apparently my forte is architecture."

"Well, you are to be congratulated ... the entire house is simply magnificent," she said as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. "But it's a good thing Claymore doesn't know about it, else he might try to rent it out from under you!" she quipped with a small smile.

He looked at her, and broke into a full-throated laugh. "Yes, he would, wouldn't he?" Her laughter joined his as they reached the upstairs landing.

He brought her to the door of her room, and their levity died into an awkward silence. "Thank you for a lovely day, Daniel," Carolyn said at last. "Even if it has only been a dream, it has been the most wonderful one I've ever had."

The smile in his eyes faded as his mood abruptly changed. "It doesn't have to end here, you know," he said softly, a wealth of meaning in his words.

Her mood lowered to match his. "Daniel ... I've already explained why I cannot marry you."

He seemed to struggle with some internal demon, and when he looked back at her, she could see the longing in his eyes. He seemed partly angry at himself, and partly embarrassed as he said, "If marriage is out of the question, I would be willing, m'dear, to settle for less."

It took her a few moments to realize what he was saying, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. "Daniel!" she admonished. "I can't be just another of your ... women! I'm not like you ... I'm not the kind of person who can have a -- casual relationship."

They stood outside her door a long moment, frozen like a pair of statues, and then he closed the distance between them in one stride. With one finger under her chin, he raised her face to his own so that her gaze again met his. His eyes burned with a strangely intense light, as though a flame flickered in their blue depths. "Madam, I am not by nature a patient man. I never have been. I have admitted freely my past indiscretions, and I make no apology for them. When one is at sea for long and lonely months, bereft of the comfort of a woman's soft voice and touch, a man takes what pleasures he can when they are offered. And, at the risk of sounding conceited, no woman has ever had reason to complain of my ... attentions."

As he lowered his face to hers, Mrs. Muir closed her eyes. His lips brushed hers lightly, then drew back momentarily as he breathed, "My darling ..." before closing once more upon hers, first with a gentle insistence, then with a slowly building intensity which stole the very breath from her body, leaving her flushed and gasping and utterly weak at the knees. Feelings and desires which she thought had died along with her husband rose to the surface, and she was surprised at the kind of scandalous thoughts she found running through her whirling mind.

Not really wanting to end the kiss, but fearing what would happen if she didn't, she reluctantly brought her hands up between their bodies, pushing gently but firmly against his chest until he took her subtle message and allowed her to break the kiss. "Daniel, I ... please, don't ..." was all she could gasp out past the lump in her throat. Her heart beat wildly, and she feared she would faint for the second time that day.

He stared at her flushed face in momentary confusion, then his own visage clouded like a thunderstorm. Keen disappointment infused his voice with a harsh edge as he said, "I am sorry, m'dear, for my momentary loss of control. You need not concern yourself. I am not, and shall never be, a man to force himself upon an unwilling woman." A mixture of anger and desolation marred his otherwise handsome features as he spun and walked away from her.

Her heart lurched in her chest at the agony she read in his face and bearing. She fingered the ring he had given her -- a solid, reassuring presence in her pocket, a token of this day spent together with a man she cared very deeply for. A man she ... loved.

"Daniel!" she called out suddenly, though filtered through the rushing in her ears it sounded to her like a quavering whisper. "Please ... don't go. I ... don't want you to go. I ... love you."

He stopped in his tracks, and she saw his spine stiffen before he slowly ... agonizingly slowly ... turned back to face her. One hand on the balustrade, he gazed at her searchingly, as if trying to read her very thoughts. Then, before she even knew how she got there, she was in his arms, returning his frantic kisses with guileless abandon, her arms wound around the strong column of his neck as his own arms encircled her waist in a crushing embrace.

He rained kisses upon her mouth, her face, her throat until she didn't care whether this was dream or reality. All she knew was that she wanted him, that she loved him. Between kisses, she was able to blurt out, "For what it's worth, Daniel ... in this life or any other ... Yes, I will marry you ..."

He swung her up into strong arms as she threw hers around his neck again, laughing as she hadn't done in years, giddy and carefree as a schoolgirl, or a blushing new bride. As he paused once more before her door, shifting her weight so that he could reach for the doorknob, she drew the ring from her pocket, holding it before his delighted eyes as she slipped it onto her finger.

His face sobered slightly. "I'm afraid, Madam, that I cannot immediately provide you with the proper ritual formalities and celebrations ..."

She put a finger to his lips, hushing him. "It doesn't matter. This is all the ceremony I need." And then her lips replaced her finger as she kissed him.

Without breaking the kiss, Daniel groped behind him for the doorknob, opened her boudoir door, and carried her over its threshold. As he turned to carry her to their downy marital bed, he nudged the door with his foot, and it slowly closed behind them ...

_

* * *

And the rest was lost in a rush of scattered images and sensations ... she and her Captain exchanging impromptu but heartfelt nuptial vows, solemnly pledging their souls to one another throughout time and eternity ... exchanging a mutual kiss to seal their love ... the kiss escalating into something more ... tentative touches growing bolder and more familiar ... the sense of mutual discovery and joy as they finally, rapturously consummated a love and commitment that transcended fantasy and reality, body and soul, life and death ... until both lay wrapped in each other's arms, sated and happy and utterly, completely in love ... falling asleep to the glorious music of church bells ..._


	5. Chapter 5

**A Touch of Paradise  
**by Vamptanzen

**-- Chapter Five --**

Mrs. Muir came slowly awake to the persistent ringing of the telephone. She purred deep in her throat, and turned lazily over, flinging her arm out as if to embrace someone else there in her bed, but her arm descended through empty air to land upon the tangle of blankets. She opened her eyes sleepily. _Why was I expecting someone to be there?_ she asked herself, confused. She hadn't done that since just after Robert's death.

As she reached for the jangling phone, she realized that she felt more rested than she had in weeks. She was only slightly surprised as the phone rose up from the bedside table to meet her reach halfway.

"Thank you, Captain," she murmured as the receiver floated into her waiting hand. She sat up and cleared her throat slightly before speaking sleepily into the mouthpiece. "Yes?"

As she listened to the voice on the other end of the line, her face suddenly shed all traces of sleep and came alive with excitement. "Really? Oh, Martha, that's wonderful news! Yes, I'll be right there! Tell him I love him, and I'll get there as soon as I can." She almost flung the receiver back into its cradle.

The Captain materialized in his customary spot by the telescope. "Good news, Madam?"

Carolyn leapt out of bed and ran to her closet, pulling out the first outfit which came to hand. "Fantastic news! Jonathan's awake! The doctor says he's going to be all right!" She reached for the hem of her nightgown, ready to pull it up and over her head, then caught herself just in time as she suddenly remembered the Captain's presence. She had a sudden flash of _déjà vu_, as if she'd done this before, very recently, then flushed with embarrassment. "Uh ... Daniel ..."

His smile was enigmatic, and for a moment it appeared his eyes flicked down over her nightgown-clad body with uncharacteristic familiarity. "I understand, dear lady. Tell the lad I hope he has a speedy recovery, and that I've missed having him aboard my ship." He vanished, leaving Mrs. Muir with the strangest feeling ...

As she began dressing, she actually started humming to herself, and noticed that the morning had broken upon a beautiful springlike day. She didn't know why she had awoken in such a sunny mood, when up until two minutes ago Jonathan had still been at death's door, for all she knew. She shrugged. Though she had no recollection of it at all, she assumed she must have had some perfectly wonderful dream, to put her in such good spirits on waking ...

As she reached for her purse, eager to get to Jonathan's bedside, she didn't even notice the morning sunlight glinting off the delicate gold ring encircling the third finger of her left hand ...

* * *

_**Author's Note:** My apologies if anything in this story is inconsistent with the established canon of the series. It's been awhile since I've seen the show, and only have a handful of episodes on videotape to which I can refer, so I'm not sure if the series provided more background on the Captain and his life, his upbringing or his parentage, other than citing his death date and the fact that he fought at the Battle of Vera Cruz (which took place in 1847, at which time, based on the Captain's age of 39 at the time of his death in November 1869, as stated in the series, Daniel Gregg would only have been 17 years old). _

_As for the name of Carolyn's late husband, which I initially had as Edmond -- my thanks to Tabitha12 for subsequently contacting me and providing the more series-canonical name of Robert. She also pointed out that, between the series and the tie-in novel, Carolyn's husband had no less than three different names: the novel refers to him as Edmond, in the episode "Mister Perfect" Carolyn's suitor Blair refers to him as Richard, and several episodes later, in "Strictly Relative", Carolyn's in-laws refer to their son by the name Robert (and, being his parents, they certainly should know their own son's name -- so this is the one I opted to go with!) ;-) . _


End file.
